


airport waiting area

by ocdranboo



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Airport AU, Airports, Canon Compliant, Dermatillomania, Dermatophagia, Evan Hansen is bad at feelings, Jared Kleinman Is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Making Up, OCD, Past Childhood Abuse, Past Childhood Trauma, Past Drug Use, Past Prostitution, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Suicide Attempt, Post canon, UNO, airport, and, dont do drugs kids, flight delayed au, jared has, liberal swearing, past anorexia, past bulimia, past self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22529587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ocdranboo/pseuds/ocdranboo
Summary: "Stuck in an airport because the flights were delayed and it's like 2am" AU.
Relationships: Jared Kleinman/Evan Hansen
Comments: 1
Kudos: 79





	airport waiting area

**Author's Note:**

> this took me fOREVER to write sksksks

Jared Kleinman hated airports. That wasn't new. But he hated them more than usual at this particular moment.  
Why?  
Because it was two in the morning, his flight was delayed until five, and the only empty seat by the terminal was right next to the one and only Evan Hansen.  
He didn't have a choice. Everyone had already seen him standing there (alone, listening to music, like a loser) and they'd seen the empty seat so not sitting would be weird. He couldn't just keep buying food until five. So he had to sit down by Evan.  
But if he sat down by Evan and Evan walked away he would cry and if Evan ignored him he would cry and if he caught the scent of Evan's stupid apple-cinnamon shampoo he would burst into tears.  
But it was two in the morning and he was tired so he hit play on a vine compilation and sat down, shoving his carry-on under the seat, sitting criss-cross, and pretending he didn't know who he was sitting next to.  
He was hyperaware of Evan's movements. It had been a year since they'd last spoken, almost to the day, and Jared just wanted to get back to New York.  
He switched tabs, hit play on his playlist "100 likes and i'll press f to play despacito by smash mouth" (it was a playlist about the fight he and Evan had their senior year, which was embarrassing as hell, consequently, the title; and fittingly, the first song up was Modern Baseball's Your Graduation), and checked his email, responding to his English professor's email to the class about her absence.  
This was, undoubtedly, the most awkward experience of Jared's life. And that was saying a lot.  
He glanced around. Most of the other people were asleep or staring exhaustedly at their phones, except for two girls, one of whom was reading with her head in the other's lap, the other carefully braiding her hair. Aside from them, everyone was absorbed into their own thing, alone.  
Better to rip the metaphorical bandaid off the metaphorical bullet wound, maybe.  
He pulled an earbud out of his ear and leaned back, taking a breath.  
"This is really fucking awkward, hi. Do you want an Almond Joy? Because I bought twelve on impulse."  
Evan snorted slightly. "God, it really is. Yeah. Sure," he said, also pulling out an earbud. Jared reached underneath his seat and handed a candy bar to Evan.  
His hair smelled like that apple-cinnamon shampoo. Jesus Christ.  
"So, like," Evan said, fighting with the wrapper, "are we gonna talk about... whatever?"  
"I have never been direct at anything in my life," Jared said. In the morning he would probably (definitely) regret his decisions.  
"I noticed."  
"Ow," Jared said, mostly re: Evan shading his avoidance tendencies, partially because he'd hit his thumb on the armrest and opened up a scab from biting the skin around his nails. He reached into his pocket for a bandaid as he spoke. "I'm like... a little more mature than I was last year. Just a little bit. Barely. Like, my phone storage is all screenshots of my battery being at 69%, but I mean like, emotionally, I have grown up a little. So, for the record. I am sorry for my part in The Bullshit."  
Evan shifted so he was resting on one hip, leaning towards Jared, his legs folded up with his feet braced against the armrest on his other side (because gays can't sit in chairs). "For the record, I'm also sorry for my part in The Bullshit." Jared opened his mouth but Evan cut him off. "You were kind of a dick though, just so you know."  
"Yeah, I noticed," Jared said. He grabbed himself another Almond Joy as the song in his playlist switched to My Own Worst Enemy by Lit. "It was kind of intentional. I hate myself too, you're not the only one!"  
Evan paused. "There were lots of concerning things in that sentence but first of all, I don't hate you."  
"Oh."  
"Are you, like, disappointed?"  
"Mildly surprised," Jared admitted. He whipped and did a peace sign. "Press f to pay respects," he added out of habit.  
"F," Evan responded absently.  
"You're not wrong though. I was highkey a dick, and," he took a breath, preparing himself, "and you deserve an explanation."  
The skin he was picking at split and naturally he said, "fuck," reaching for another band-aid.  
"Wait, are you, like, you still have that, the OCD thing where you can't stop picking your skin, or biting or whatever?" Evan asked.  
"Dermatophagia and dermatillomania," Jared provided, finger-gunning. "But yeah. It's not usually this bad, but, y'know, it be like that sometimes."  
"Is there any way I can, like, help?"  
"Normally I'd be able to stop in a few minutes if I had something to do with my hands but this is kind of, an episode, as they say, so whenever my hands chill enough for me to distract myself I will, but it's, it's not gonna happen right now. This just happens sometimes."  
"Let me know, though, if there's any way I can help."  
Jared nodded. "Thanks... Um. I was an asshole, as previously established. And I'm only saying this once, so.  
Evan nodded. "I'm listening."  
"I started being more of a dick in 7th grade but it wasn't that bad until 11th because some stuff was getting out of hand, right. And that stuff was that I was kinda in love with you...? Um. So I, uh, pushed you away so I wouldn't have to deal with how I felt. I was scared of losing you when you figured out I liked you so I tried to sabotage our friendship but you stayed, which was really fucking inconvenient, Evan, because then I was forcing myself to be mean and you stayed and looked like a kicked fucking puppy every time, and — why the fuck would you stay?" His voice broke and he glanced down at his nails, watching blood bead up on his ring finger.  
Evan reached into his pocket and silently handed Jared a bandaid before saying, "Because I knew that wasn't really you. And I hoped that the real you would come back. Because I saw him shining through sometimes and that made it worth, like, all that."  
Jared swallowed and looked down at his phone. 2:47 AM. He was not going to cry at the airport at 2:47 AM.  
"Again," he said, and his voice was shakier than he would've liked, "I'm sorry."  
"I am too. I was also an asshole, so."  
Jared shook his head. "I mean, you were, but I was worse, so."  
"Please don't cry," Evan said, panicked, "I never know what to do. And then I start crying and it becomes this, like, feedback loop of misery."  
"...Do you wanna buy a bunch of shitty junk food and, like, catch up or whatever?"  
Evan nodded. "Definitely."  
The two looked at each other for a moment.  
Evan said, "If we leave our stuff on, uh, on the chairs, hopefully no one will take it?"  
"We could ask someone to watch it," Jared suggested.  
Evan nodded and took a breath before turning to the boy next to him. "Hey, excuse me?"  
The boy looked up from his laptop. "Yeah?"  
"My, my friend and I are going to get some food, would you mind just watching our stuff?"  
"Sure, no problem," he smiled.  
"Thanks so much," Evan said.  
Jared put his stuff on his chair and the two went across the room and into the souvenir and snack shop, Jared going right over to the drinks and running his fingers along the row of Monsters.  
"I was," Jared started. He stopped and sighed to himself, "I was an asshole, and I'm sorry. And I know that won't make it better, but still, like, 'it's the thought that counts' or whatever. And it's not a good reason - or a reason at all - but. I dunno, man, high school was rough and I was an asshole and I'm sorry."  
"I'm sorry for using you for the Project, and then dumping you, and I'm sorry for insulting you and ignoring you and treating you like you didn't matter, which considering the message of the project and also my own personal experiences, was really hypocritical, and I'm sorry."  
"Wait, which personal experiences?"  
Evan weighed a bag of m&ms in one hand and skittles in the other before choosing the skittles. "I tried to kill myself."  
If Jared were living in a dramatic TV show with a laugh track, he would have dropped the Monster and the Wild Berry Skittles he was holding. "You too? When?"  
"What do you mean 'too?'" Evan asked.  
"Remember in sophomore year when I fell off that bridge and I was in a wheelchair? Yeah. That wasn't an accident."  
Evan grabbed a Sprite from the top shelf. "Senior year. I didn't fall from the tree. I jumped."  
"Fucking, uh, squad goals, I guess," Jared said.  
"We love being mentally stable," Evan added.  
"Hell yeah."  
The two of them went up to the counter, where a half-asleep teenager stood, sipping from a can of Diet Coke. He had dark skin and grey eyes, and a pair of bright red glasses.  
"Hey," he said. "Good morning."  
"Good morning," Evan and Jared mumbled in chorus.  
The boy scanned each item and put them in a plastic bag. "That'll be— God, we overprice stuff here, sorry guys. That'll be $9.45."  
As Jared and Evan both shuffled for money, the boy pulled a bag out of his pocket that was blatantly labelled "CBD gummies" and ate one, shaking his head.  
"God, I wish that was me," Jared said, to which the boy jumped violently. "I'll give you both one if you don't tell my boss. I didn't think you were looking."  
"Hey, it's okay. I wasn't gonna tell anyone. Capitalism is a trap."  
Evan placed a $10 bill on the counter and then added another $5. "Keep the change."  
"Thank you," the boy said. "Do you want one? I'm really not supposed to do this, but. You can't be picky when you're couchsurfing."  
"Won't they test us?" Jared asked.  
"We already passed through security. They can't test us now without reasonable suspicion."  
The boy looked up at Evan. "Bro... being non-white is enough of a 'reasonable suspicion' for these clowns."  
"...That's true."  
Jared snorted. "Oof, yeah. I'm gonna pass, but like, thanks. And keep the change," he added, placing another $5. "To ramen, the meal of kings. Cheers."  
"Did you just toast to— nevermind. Letting it go." Evan sighed.  
"Thanks for not running to my boss," the boy said.  
"'Course," Evan said. He took the bag from the boy's outstretched hand. "Thank you."  
The two returned to their seats in the terminal. The boy who had offered to watch their stuff was asleep, his earbuds still in. Jared didn't blame him. Come to think of it, everyone in their corner of the airport was asleep. Those were some well-rested motherfuckers.  
Jared sighed. "That would help this, though." He held up his bloody hands, sighing. "My roommate first semester got so pissed with finding blood everywhere that they started just... giving me weed."  
"Oh, you're in college, then?" Evan asked. His social skills had improved so much. Jared was actually kind of proud. And jealous, but whatever.  
"Yeah. I actually go to NYU. I'm majoring in English and Computer Sciences and minoring in American Sign Language."  
"Why those three?" Evan asked.  
"English, because I'm a fucking book nerd," Jared began.  
Evan snorted. "God, remember when we read Gatsby in 10th grade English? You nearly busted a nut talking about colour symbolism."  
"It's a good book, you coward. Computer Science because I like computers and programming, and I'm kinda good at it, if you remember. ASL because I used to be fluent and I'm not now, and also for Issac, and also because being an interpreter would be cool."  
"That's valid," Evan said.  
Jared struggled to figure out what to do before remembering advice he'd read on the internet somewhere: When holding a conversation, after answering a question, if not immediately presented with a follow-up question, ask them a similar one. "What classes are you taking?" Jared asked after a pause.  
"Um, I'm actually working at Pottery Barn, sucking up to old white ladies, saving up money for college? But I'm in a few classes at the local community college, I'm majoring in English as well and minoring in botany. And I'm taking theatre, just because I can."  
"You? Studying plants? Unpredictable," Jared quipped.  
"I know, right? I'm off-brand." Evan paused. "Hey, uh, what seat are you? On the plane?"  
Jared dug his ticket out of his pocket. "13A, why?"  
Evan pulled out his own ticket. "13B."  
"That's... that's next to me."  
"So you would have had to sit next to me for a long period of time anyway," Evan laughed.  
"I don't really believe in God but if she's real, she must think she's hilarious."  
"God is real and her name is Alana Beck," Evan said.  
Jared snorted. "Alana is truly an icon for putting up with us."  
"She works at this place. It wouldn't surprise me if she orchestrated this when she saw we were on the same flight."  
"God, she probably did. Why is she working at an airport in New York, anyway?"  
"She's enrolled in Harvard. She's taking online courses while staying in New York for her sociology thesis research."  
"Oh, of course. That makes sense, actually; what better time to study people than at an airport?"  
"Exactly. Although she's also there to be with her girlfriend Sabrina. We all know it."  
"Patel?" Jared asked.  
"Yeah, the two of them are 'friends,' which for Alana means they're practically dating."  
"I love that for them," Jared said.  
"Yeah." Evan sighed. "They're so sickeningly sweet." He jerked upright suddenly. "Wait, back to that part where you had a crush on me."  
"Have," Jared mumbled under his breath.  
"Why?"  
"Believe me, I've spent—" he counted on his fingers "—nine years asking myself the same question. And writing some angsty poems about it too. You're probably 300,000 words of my lifetime word count."  
"That's a lot of words."  
"Exactly. Lemme see if I can find some stupid gay shit I wrote," Jared said, taking out his phone and searching a couple keywords before: "Oh. Oh god no. Okay. Take it before I change my mind," Jared said, handing Evan his phone. 

the boy im in love with  
by jared kleinman  
13 april 2014

the boy im in love with has  
soft brown hair and deep brown eyes  
that reflect back at me  
like sunlight off of march rain-wet grass  
showing me that i am understood  
as much as i wish to be understood.  
he is the gatsby to my nick;  
he is everything i wish i could be,  
and i'm nothing to someone like him.  
he smiles that familiar smile,  
his slightly crooked but white teeth on display,  
his lips soft and pink,  
one side of his mouth higher than the other,  
and i swear my heart forgets how to beat.  
he laughs his laugh,  
a laugh i swear could cure cancer,  
a laugh that brings angels to life,  
and my heart beats twice as fast as it should,  
and i know that  
this is the boy i'm in love with.  
but i can't say that i am,  
because god only knows what would happen if i did?  
so i'll just sit and watch  
as he brushes chocolate curls out of deep brown eyes,  
and wish on yet another star that  
someday i could tell him that i love him

Eloquently, Evan said, "that's gay, Jared."  
Jared nodded. "Yeah. After, like, a year of knowing I liked you, I figured I got the gist and gave up dealing with how I felt. But the poems never stopped."  
"Nine years, that's gotta be, like." Evan paused, squinting up at the ceiling like the answer to eighteen minus nine would be written up there somewhere. He was adorable. Jared was fucked.  
"Third grade," Jared said. "But I didn't even know, like, that I liked you until seventh grade."  
Evan brushed his hair out of his eyes. "That's so long, Jesus, are you okay?"  
"That's what she said," Jared replied instinctively. "Yeah, no, not at all. But it be like that sometimes."  
There was a pause and then Evan brushed his hair out of his eyes again and said, "hey, do you remember in ninth grade, when we used to go out for ice cream every Tuesday afternoon?"  
Jared smiled fondly. "Yeah, yeah." Ninth grade was probably one of the best years of high school for him. Things were simpler then. Well. Not really. But he had, like, two full serotonin molecules left.  
"Remember how we'd go every week, even when it was like, fuckin' freezing out, and you'd pretend you weren't cold while bundled up in one of my hoodies because you somehow managed to forget yours on every single Tuesday?"  
Jared huffed, amused that Evan was calling his bullshit four years later, but he nodded. "Yeah, I just liked stealing your sweaters."  
"Thought so. Okay, you remember that one time in March, we got there late because you fell off your bike and skinned your knee, but you got up and rode there anyway? And I ordered a double scoop mint chocolate chip and you ordered a double scoop Oreo with rainbow sprinkles?"  
"Why the fuck do you remember this?"  
"Dude, it was your regular order."  
"...Again, why the fuck," Jared shook his head. "Sorry, continue."  
"We sat down underneath that tree that we always sat down under and it was like 2:45PM and you're sitting there, in my blue sweater, the extra fluffy one, and the wind is blowing your hair everywhere. And you were, like, fucking pissed about something. I think it was the, uh, Spring Awakening discourse? And you leaned on my shoulder and you were talking so animatedly about it and, like, normally? If it were anyone else? I'd have told you to shut the fuck up about Melchior Gabor a good twenty minutes ago. But because it was you I remember just... listening. And when you stopped talking to take a really angry bite of your ice cream I, like. I had this thought that was so loud that it felt like getting kicked in the stomach, just, 'oh shit, I'm in love with him.'"  
If this were a cartoon, Jared's mouth would be hanging down on the floor. "Wait, you— for four years— you mean—" Jared shut his mouth to avoid any further idiocy.  
Evan shrugged, almost shyly. "Um. Yeah."  
"Evan, you asshole!" Jared punched him lightly in the bicep. "You should've told me!"  
"I just did," Evan pointed out.  
Jared leaned back in his chair and sighed dramatically. "You're telling me that for four years— you mean I didn't have to do my whole 'shoving you away' bullshit in the first place?!"  
"Yep. If we'd talked about our feelings, it'd've been that much easier."  
"God, we're fucking stupid." Jared paused. "To be fair, though, I was in crisis mode for, like, most of high school, so."  
"Dude, same," Evan said.  
Jared checked the time. "It's 3:32AM and the plane leaves at 5:12, so, like, if you want to tell your entire life story in true gay fashion, I'm listening."  
"Well it all started when my dad left," Evan said in falsetto.  
"Get you a man with daddy issues," Jared said, tapping his forehead.  
"Like, we have two hours to kill, and I talk, like, a lot, so. If you're serious on that offer..."  
"Yeah, dude. Sometimes you just gotta say fuck it and tell your whole life story in an airport, you feel?"  
Evan nodded and stretched out in his chair before curling up again, one leg on the floor, the other bent up with his foot on the seat and an arm wrapped around it.  
Jared changed his playlist to the one he'd made in their junior year for him and Evan to listen to and offered up an earbud, which Evan took. The first song up was Who Wants To Live Forever by Queen, which was fucking depressing, especially for 3AM in an airport.  
"I don't remember any important things that happened before my dad left, so let's start there, actually. Yeah, my dad left when I was seven. Good riddance. Except that I think it fuelled most of my rejection-based anxiety and feelings of inadequacy during my formative years, and now I'm depressed. Anyway, uh, when I was eight I was already anxious, but it didn't... it wasn't debilitating most of the time. I met you around then, and... yeah. Middle school was when shit started to go down, though. Because I got braces in sixth grade, remember? And I got worried that I had a lisp, so I started talking less. But then I got more worried that everyone would think of me as the boy who didn't talk because he had a lisp. So I started wearing headphones everywhere to pretend I was just antisocial. By the end of sixth grade I was a wreck. Then seventh grade happened and I had that fuckin' emo phase? I still have all my Pierce The Veil shirts from then and honestly? Most of them still fit. Uh, sometime that, like, October, I just... stopped eating food? And my mom didn't know — I mean, she's a nurse and everything, but why would she be looking for signs of anorexia in a teen boy who went out and got an eyebrow piercing?"  
"Shit, dude, I remember the eyebrow piercing," Jared said.  
"Those were some dark days," Evan quipped. "Nah, but then in January I was like 'you know what is a very good and healthy way to deal with my problems? Cutting! I have great ideas.' In May my mom found out and I got on antidepressants, which was fuckin' lit. In 8th grade I got really into musicals, like, as a coping mechanism. By 9th grade I was eating food again and I hadn't been carving up my own skin as often. 10th grade you started getting pretty distant, but I figured I was just, like, doing that thing I always did where I exaggerated everything. But that year, I don't know why, but I got really bad. Like, I was back to cutting, I wasn't eating, I was getting high all the time, I got a tattoo—"  
"You what?!"  
"Yeah," Evan said. He shrugged sheepishly. "It's on my neck, see?"  
Jared looked, and at the base of his neck was a tattoo of a crescent moon and three stars orbiting it.  
"I like it," he said, running his finger over the skin. Whether or not he saw Evan shiver was between him and his overactive imagination.  
"Thanks," Evan said. "Yeah, I did that, which was arguably the least destructive of my self-destructive bullshit that year. And the next year. Junior year I was actually fucking falling apart, but no one cared because I was getting good grades, y'know? And I was doing better for a while, autumn of junior year? You were waffling on whether to come out to your parents and we couldn't be having crisises at the same time. Um, but, that summer was the summer I tried to kill myself. And then senior year, you know about that. I was getting better, in a way. I was too anxious to actually go to parties and get high or whatever, so I stayed home and cried, mostly. But after our fight I got really bad again. And that wasn't your fault, I had a lot of stressors at that time. That May, though, my mom got me to go to outpatient at the psychiatric hospital. And I was doing much better after that? So I applied to jobs, signed up for partial enrolment in NYU, went to Texas to visit my mom, and now I'm here."  
"Are you, like, okay?" Jared asked.  
"I started the, uh, the Bullshit Project because I was scared to tell his parents they'd made a mistake, so, like... no."  
"That's fair," Jared said. "But, like, for real, dude. That sucks ass. I'm sorry."  
"Thanks," Evan mumbled. "Um, time for your life story!"  
"Are you absolutely sure you're ready for what you're getting into?"  
"Mm... yeah. I've known you for eleven years. As long as you're okay with digging through your past at an ungodly hour in an airport."  
"What can it hurt?" Jared sighed and cracked open his can of Monster. "Cheers. Uh, as we all know, I don't remember the first eight years of my life because I was abused as a child!" He threw up a peace sign. "But, like, it be like that. Elementary school was as good as it could've been considering the circumstances. I was already thinking about suicide in fifth grade, but again, it be like that. Sixth grade I had lots of self hatred bottled up but seventh grade I let the metaphorical bottle metaphorically explode. I'm talking cutting, bulimia, suicide attempts, refusing to speak because I felt like my voice being heard didn't matter anyway. Repeat in eighth grade but like, add weed into the mix. Add alcohol in ninth grade. By the summer between eighth and ninth I was doing a bit better but by the end of ninth grade everything went to shit again. I started planning to move out of my house, planning emergency scenarios, everything you could think of. I ended up being a sarcastic asshole to everyone because I was scared. Right before sophomore year I jumped off a bridge and failed to kill myself, so I let these bad boys deal with all my repressed emotion." Jared held up his arms, the aforementioned "bad boys."  
"Junior year I was getting better but I realised I couldn't deal with being around you and not showing how I felt anymore so I started being an asshole, as previously stated. Senior year, did illegal shit to be around you, no homo. We fought, I got bad again, you know the drill. Except this time in addition to all the bullshit I did before, I also came out as gay and my dad kicked me out. So I'm eighteen, living on the streets, straight-B student with no skills in anything whatsoever because I didn't expect to be, like, alive."  
Jared sighed and unwrapped an Almond Joy. "Gimme a sec, eating my feelings away."  
"Take your time," Evan said. If anyone else had said it, Jared would've thought it was sarcastic, but this was Evan. He loved Evan more than was maybe good for him.  
"I start going to these bars, right. And at first I'm just having a couple too many vodkas, throwing up in the bathrooms or whatever, fuckin' glamorous. But then I'm doing whatever the hell I want. Heroin? Withdrawals are a bitch, dude, please don't do heroin. LSD? Crying for thirteen hours when your tears keep turning into teddy bears with machine guns while frothing at the fucking mouth isn't as great as it sounds. Meth? Did that too. Except, like."  
He took a deep breath. "Meth was the one that got me fucked. Because I was like, eighteen, right? Barely legal. Living on the streets. I need money to survive and also to feed my fucking meth addiction. So I'm out there, sucking dick, letting other people suck my dick, for twenty bucks or maybe some meth. Then I'm going out to job interviews, like I wasn't in some bathroom with a guy a decade older than me with his fucking hands all over me, pretending I have my shit together."  
Jared took another breath, brushing his hair out of his eyes only to have it fall back again. "Um, and there's this one guy. Alex something. He texted me, said he'd pay fifty dollars to fuckin', y'know. And fifty bucks is a lot of fucking ramen noodles, so I said yes. Except we got to this corner of the bathroom and the guy's gotta be over twice my age, maybe even three times. And I'm like 'woah, dude, are you sure you're the guy you said you were,' and he's like 'here's your fifty dollars.' And I'm trying to surreptitiously get out the door but he notices and grabs me and—um."  
"Hey," Evan whispered. He held out an arm and Jared leaned into him, the armrest of the chair pressing into his ribcage. "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."  
Jared blinked away stray tears, burying himself in Evan's chest, then promptly gave up stifling his tears and fucking sobbed into Evan's jacket, his attempts to stay calm and deal with his emotions like a normal person completely forgotten.  
"I'm sorry for being so fucking depressing all the time."  
"You're not depressing all the time. And you haven't done anything wrong, Jared. Stop punishing yourself for a crime you didn't commit."  
Jared sniffed and leaned into him as much as possible. "Thank you, Evan."  
"Anytime. And I really mean that, Jare."  
Jared sniffed. "Sorry for crying on you."  
"It's fine, dude, really. Come with me. I've had enough breakdowns to know how to make it look like you're fine."  
Jared sniffed, wiped his face on his sleeve like a seven year old, and followed Evan to the bathrooms.  
"This is the part where you seduce me?" Jared joked weakly.  
"Yes. Nope, I'm just going to teach you the power of cold water." Evan grabbed a paper towel, dampened it with cold water, and folded it into quarters. "Here, just, like, press that lightly against each of your eyes. Gets rid of the redness."  
Jared did as Evan wet another paper towel, but instead of telling him what to do with it, Jared found himself with Evan's hand on the back of his head, his thumb resting on Jared's cheek.  
"Sorry, can I...?"  
"Go ahead," Jared said, trying not to think about how close he was. God.  
Evan gently wiped down Jared's face with cool water, leaving him at least feeling a lot better, before enveloping him in another warm hug.  
"I love you," Jared mumbled, and he tried not to immediately regret his emotional vulnerability.  
"I love you too," Evan responded into Jared's hair.  
Once both of them were calm and relatively presentable, and not looking like they'd cried in an airport bathroom, they went back to their seats, and Jared sighed. "I usually hate airports because of security, but I love how fucking unreal they feel, but I have been here for three hours and I am tired."  
"That's really valid," Evan said. "God, when does the plane leave again?"  
"Five," Jared responded.  
Evan checked the time. "Uno more hour."  
Jared shot up. "Wanna play Uno? I have a deck of cards."  
"You have a deck of Uno cards?"  
"One of life's necessities." He reached into his carry-on and pulled out a deck. "Best six out of ten?"  
"You're on."  
The game lasted them a good half hour, most of which were spent with the two cursing at each other and slamming cards violently onto the deck. Neither even knew how many rounds they'd played or who was winning, as the game quickly descended into chaos.  
"We should be boarding any second now," Evan sighed when he checked the time.  
"God, really? Uh," Jared glanced around. "Am I forgetting anything?"  
"Mmm... Yeah. If you don't give my heart back I'm telling the cops you're a thief."  
"Well, you didn't give me back my sweater in senior year, or my heart, so I guess we're even," Jared responded.  
"Oh shit. Oh fuck," Evan responded dryly.  
"Whatever will he do," Jared added in an equal tone.  
"The world will never know."  
An announcement came on speaker, letting them know that it was their time to board, and Jared stood. "Well. See you onboard, then."  
"Yep," Evan said. "See you on board."

**Author's Note:**

> then they get on the plane and talk more and at the end of the flight they swap numbers and kiss in the airport. Thank you


End file.
